


Ship in a Bottle

by rumba



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, logurt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumba/pseuds/rumba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Logan are in a cycle which neither seems to know how to resolve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “After All This Time” prompt as part of Logurt Week 2015.

A gust of crisp autumn air blew through the open bedroom window. Logan let out an annoyed grunt as he jockeyed the bed sheets back up over his body, shielding himself from the cold. He tossed to one side, then to the other. He finally gave in to the reality that, despite all hopes otherwise, he was awake now.

He squinted and looked at the clock on the bed-side stand. 11:48.

‘Almost made it til noon,’ he thought.

Yawning, he caught a whiff of his own sour breath. Dinner must have been beer, dessert cigars, whiskey, and …  He wrinkled his nose, catching a hint of sulfur in the room. Turning his head, he looked over at the crumpled sheets lying next to him. His memory clicked into place. Kurt had pulled his usual disappearing act at some point this morning.

After all this time the elf still couldn’t face staying in the morning.

Logan sighed as he sat up in bed. He knew what would happen next. There would be an elephant in the room everytime they were together for the next few weeks. Kurt would be fussy at best. He would avoid Logan altogether at worst. Training sessions they were supposed to have would be awful.

Then, slowly, the elephant would melt away into the woodwork. The cavalier, adventure loving Kurt Wagner would come back.

Running his hands through his hair, Logan wondered about the value of trying to talk to Kurt about this loop. They’d been in it for … Logan pondered. A year now? Two? But each time Logan had tried to talk to Kurt, he was shut down. Kurt had obviously made up his mind that this was how things were going to be. Later, rinse, repeat.

—–

“It” played out nearly identically every time.

A mission would end. One of two things would happen.

Missions where someone got hurt ended in trips to Harry’s bar. Those outings were usually a serious affair. For a few hours, they would sit in silence, not sure what to say to each other. Eventually, usually as the beers took hold, they would begin talking about the fragility of life and the nature of man. For Logan, having been more or less excluded from the fragility of life part meant instead watching others you cared about be taken away from you, over and over again. It was a circle of hell that didn’t give a person the best outlook. But Logan found solace in Kurt’s unwavering faith in everlasting life, his belief that the good will be rewarded and that the wicked can be saved. Not a view he shared, but the consistency of the German’s belief was its own kind of bedrock. Its presence meant that there was a part of the world where things were still ok. It meant there was still something in the world worth fighting for.

Missions where no one had been seriously hurt also ended in a trip to Harry’s, but the tone couldn’t have been more different. The good guys had won, everyone was alive and well, and there was a natural order in the universe. Kurt and Logan would watch sports, crack jokes, and imbibe heavily.

Kurt might chide Logan over his choice of Canadian beer, telling him he was missing out on enjoying the years of craft that went into a good Hefeweizen. “Ze Germans take bier so seriously they have laws Logan. Reinheitsgebot.”

“Gesundheit!” Logan would inevitably retort, a playful grin on his face. He could always tell when Kurt was beginning to feel the effects. The elf would start slipping more and more German into his speech. Logan wondered if he was intentionally doing it.

Thanks to his mutations, Logan would be mostly unfazed after the first half dozen beers. It wouldn’t be until double digits that he began to feel anything more solidly. Kurt, on the other hand, would begin swaying from one side to the other, ever so slightly. He would get a dopey grin on his face that made his appearance even more devilish than usual. It was hard to tell because his skin mostly obscured it, but Logan was pretty sure that Kurt’s cheeks flushed red when he was drunk. Logan would also start to notice himself noticing Kurt; his sheepish smile, the dimples in his cheeks, or the way locks of his hair curled down over his forehead.

The evening would disappear in a blur of wisecracks and half-remembered tales of adventure and conquest gone by. At an ungodly hour in the morning, the bartenders would shout “LAST CALL.” One more round before the short stumble back home.

By this point, Logan would be about a dozen to a dozen and a half in, finally feeling himself loosening up. A side effect of this was that his compulsive need to smoke would kick in. He would take a cigar out of his shirt pocket and would begin chomping on it. Years previously, he could have just lit it up in the place and nobody would have batted an eye. Those days were long gone now though thanks to humanity’s understanding of smoking’s ill-effects (for all those unfortunate souls without a healing factor that is). Kurt would usually be a few sheets to the wind, his body-language conveying something on his mind that the sober mind repressed. A bite at his own lower lip with one of his canine fangs. A coy look at Logan from the corner of his eyes. A sly tail accidentally brushing across Logan’s leg.

They would finish off their drinks and settle up the tab. Logan would keep an eye on Kurt as they made their way to the exit. He would never be walking in a straight line, but never had to be carried off. Within seconds of making it through the door, Logan would have a match struck and would be puffing away on his cigar.

On the walk home, Kurt would occasionally chastise Logan for indulging in a “divugsting habit.” Once, he had convinced Logan to let him try the cigar. This experiment ended with Kurt doubled over in a coughing fit, spitting and fighting off the urge to puke. Logan let out a deep laugh and patted Kurt on the back as he wretched. “Elf, you’re not supposed to inhale it.”

By the time that they made it back to the mansion, Logan would be done with his cigar and would have already started to lose the evening’s buzz. Kurt, on the other hand, would be hamming it up–letting loose in an off-key baritenor rendition of something from _The Pirates of Penzance_ , miming swashbuckling motions in Logan’s direction.

Once inside, things would become momentarily awkward. The first time “it” happened, Logan had invited Kurt up to his room for another drink. This has been purely because Logan, having lost his buzz, was not done for the night and didn’t want to drink alone.

Now, the invitation had become little more than pretense.

Within seconds of Logan’s bedroom door closing, Kurt would be crawling all over him. Kissing sloppily, running his hands up and down Logan’s back, wrapping his tail tightly around Logan’s waist. Logan would return the attention, exploring the crevices of Kurt’s mouth with his tongue.

Logan always sensed a desperate hunger in Kurt’s attention. He knew there was something deeply bottled up in Kurt, something the alcohol was working around. When the lid did finally come off, the release of pressure was intense.

In the long-term, Logan knew this wasn’t good. But in this moment …

—–

Logan finally pulled himself out of bed. He realized that he had slept in most of his clothes from last night.

After going to his dresser and changing his shirt, he decided that new pants weren’t really called for. Instead, he ran his hands over them trying to flatten out some of the wrinkles. He looked over at the mirror atop his dresser. Haggard, but presentable enough to at least go get some breakfast from the kitchen.

He spotted an empty tumbler and a bottle of whiskey, and flashed back to how it had gotten there last night.

—–

Logan learned he needed to slow Kurt down, otherwise things would get clumsy. The first time “it” had happened, he had been surprised. Kurt had always seemed like such a suave and rehearsed gentleman. Behind the closed door of Logan’s room he seemed to go into heat. He wanted everything, but without focus. Logan, on the other-hand, had no qualms about savoring a moment. The situation just required a little bit of control.

After pulling the blue elf off of him, Logan walked away over to his dresser. Seconds after rifling through it, he had pulled out a bottle of whisky and a glass. Pouring himself a healthy splash, he gave Kurt a salacious look and said, “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me.”

Kurt grinned and licked his lips. He began slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. Rocking his hips back and forth, he began a striptease set to music playing only in his head. Logan grinned as he imagined that it was quite possibly something from _Penzance_.

'My own private pirate booty,’ he thought.

Kurt’s shirt slid off his body, revealing the gymnast’s toned torso and chest. Logan let out an approving grunt as Kurt turned around, facing away. Hooking his thumbs into the waist band of his pants, Kurt swung his tail back and forth. He looked back over his shoulder, watching Logan watching him. Logan knew Kurt was enjoying this. Some part of him must of found a thrill in performing, a carry-over from his circus days.

Logan heard the 'zzzzzziiiiiiiip’ of Kurt’s fly being drawn. He stared at Kurt like a predator stalking dinner as his teammate teased the fabric down and over his thighs and calves.

Turning his head back over his shoulder as he played with the waist line of his black underwear, he asked “Like what you see mein freund?”

Logan grinned. His cock now ached and strained against his jeans. “Think I do. Think I’ve got something I could use your help with.”

“Oh, is zat so?” Kurt asked as he turned around, his own arousal barely hidden by his tented skivvies. Logan unzipped his own fly, reached in and extricated himself. He gave himself a few gentle strokes while eyeing up Kurt’s body.

“Think you can manage this?” Logan asked playfully.

Kurt sauntered over and lowered himself to his knees, “I guess, ve will find out.”

Logan closed his eyes as Kurt swallowed him. Between the whisky and the head, his mind had gone swimming. Kurt pushed himself down on Logan, three-fingered hands grasping Logan’s thighs for leverage. Logan could feel Kurt’s tail snaking around his calf while his teammate’s tongue darting along his base. He groaned in delight as Kurt pushed himself down hard, nuzzling his nose against the button of Logan’s Levi’s. Logan ran a hand through Kurt’s curly locks.

“Fuck elf, that’s good.”

Kurt coughed a bit as he came up off of Logan, a small trail of spit trailing from his mouth. He looked up into Logan’s eyes for a moment; the recognition of hunger passed between them. Kurt drew in breath, furrowed his brow, abd came back down on Logan hard.

Logan could feel the tension building up inside him. His breathing had become more and more strained. He would not be able to last much longer like this. Motioning Kurt off, he looked down at flustered face. “Get on the bed. And take those damn underwear off.”

Kurt did as asked, pulling himself up off the floor and padding over to the bed.

“How do you vant me?”

Logan took his remaining cigar from his shirt pocket and slipped it into his mouth. Finding a match in his desk drawer, he lit it, took a few puffs. He walked over to the window, opening it to not flood the room with smoke. He paused and  ran a hand across from Kurt’s shoulder, down his back, around the soft curve of his ass, admiring.

“All fours.”

Kurt nearly bunny hopped into the bed, the springs bouncing him back up as they kicked back against his weight. He positioned himself, presenting. Logan placed his cigar in the ashtray on the nightstand and opened up the drawer. From there, he drew out a small bottle of lubricant.

Kurt winced as he felt the cool liquid being applied. He arched his back and let out a soft moan as Logan slid in a finger.

“Like that elf?” Logan asked as he curled his finger. Kurt’s response was an incoherent slurry of syllables. When Logan added another digit, Kurt responded by burying his face in the sheets and wrapping his tail around Logan’s forearm. A thin strand of precome leaked from Kurt, puddling on the sheets.  

Kurt whined as Logan withdrew. After cleaning his hand of lubricant, Logan reach back and grabbed the cigar from the ashtray and returned it to its rightful place in his mouth. He drew in and blew smoke down towards Kurt, watching as the gray clouds plumed across Kurt’s back. Grey wisps dancing across an ocean of blue.

“Say it,” Logan commanded.

Kurt panted against the sheets, his eyes closed tight. Smoke filled his nostrils. Nerves, electric wires. He gave a small grunt. He could feel Logan saddling up.

“Say it elf,” Logan repeated in a cool, firm voice.

Kurt moaned again.

Logan gave him a playful smack on the rear.

Kurt cried out, “Verdammit, fuck me!”

Logan grinned and, with one hand gripping Kurt’s hip, did as asked.

—–

Logan made his way lazily down the stairs almost two hours after waking up, heading to the kitchen to rustle up some grub. There, he found one Jubilation Lee sitting quietly at the large dining table, painting her fingernails florescent pink. He wordlessly passed by her and towards the refrigerator.

“Jeez Wolvie, you smell like you just crawled out of a hole.”

Logan gave himself a perfunctory sniff, then took a carton of orange juice and a beer out from the fridge. After pulling a tall glass down from the cabinet and pouring both liquids in, he took a long swig. Finally, he retorted, “I couldn’t tell over the smell of that polish. Stinking up the whole mansion.”

Jubilee didn’t even glance up as she carefully drew the brush across her fingernail. “Yeah yeah. B-t-dubs, did Kurt find you this morning?”

“B-t-dubs?”

“B - T - W.”

“B - T - W?”

“By the way? God Logan.”

Logan took another sip of his drink and asked, “Kurt was looking for me?”

“Yeah, he seemed all worked up about something. I dunno, probably some new high seas adventure thing he programmed in the Danger Room. He’s been in there the whole morning. You know how he gets.”

Logan nodded. He did in fact know how 'Kurt gets.’ With a few quick glugs, Logan finished off his breakfast and wandered out of the kitchen.

Jubilee called after him, “Smell you later.”

—–

The door to the Danger Room opened after the red “ROOM IN USE” warning blinked for the prerequisite 15 seconds. Logan had indicated to the computer that, yes, he really did want to enter, despite the inherent danger to his person that could come from interrupting someone mid-program. As the doors slid open, Logan found a familiar training scenario running. A kick-boxing routine, commonly used for hand-to-hand combat training.

He saw Kurt in the center of the ring, drenched in sweat, ducking and counter-punching the large red robotic dummy attacker. The robot stumbled slightly after a solid punch, regrouped, and countered with a low kick. Kurt jumped, seemingly clearing the strike without effort, and then delivered a righteous kick to the robot’s head with the heel of his foot. It staggered backwards, then fell to the mat with a tremendous thud. A disembodied bell rung, marking the end of combat.

Logan walked up to the side of the ring, catching Kurt’s eye. “Nice counter,” he offered.

“Where vere you this morning?” Kurt demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“We had training starting at 9, und you were nowhere to be seen.”

Logan rolled his eyes and shrugged, “I’m pretty sure I was right where you left me.”

Kurt turned away with an annoyed grunt.

Logan hesitated for a second. What could he even say. After a few moments of silence, he found his nerve.

“Elf …  are we going to talk about this? About you, and … ” He paused. He had started to say 'you and me,’ but caught himself. No, that would be too much. “About what’s going on?”

The air was thick with an uncomfortable silence. Kurt didn’t turn around.

“I mean, if you want this to just be a once-in-a-while thing, that’s fine. But I need you to tell me.”

Silence.

This …  this was always the worst part. Logan waited as Kurt stood stiff and motionless. His teammate couldn’t even face him. He knew deep inside Kurt shame and guilt had locked his body into place. While the elf might have the capacity to handle life, death, redemption, and the nature of man, he didn’t seem to have the means to handle this. 

Instead, there was just a protracted silence. 

Finally, without turning to face him, Kurt announced, “Command: Begin next round.” The robotic dummy began to come back alive, picking itself up off the mat. Kurt turned his head slightly, catching sight of Logan from the corner of his eye. He mustered a weak smile. 

“Be on time for training tomorrow Herr Logan.”

Logan nodded at Kurt, then turned, and went back to bed.

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to play around with what a Logurt relationship might look like given the stresses of heroism, Kurt’s Catholicism, and Logan’s somewhat nihilistic attitude. As much as I like to imagine our beloved pair living in a log cabin in the northern woods, in a happy and stable long-term relationship, possibly with a cat that Logan kind of hates but Kurt -adores-, I don’t necessarily think that this part of their personalities would match well with “happily-ever after.” At least, in the traditional sense of that phrase. I do think though there’s a way it could still work … but it just may not be entirely healthy.


End file.
